


I can’t fight it, so what am I to do but encourage it?

by Chemicataclysm (ARealSlimScotty)



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: :( sorry im hurting dolokhov, Angst, Drinking, Heartbreak, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pining!Dolokhov, Suicidal Ideation, Unrequited Love, dolokhov is like "oh I wish my rum were poisoned so I'd die", i swear its coherent tho, im not sure what time this takes place, kind of, or whats happening, uhh this is an au but im not sure how or why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARealSlimScotty/pseuds/Chemicataclysm
Summary: "This love of his brought him nothing but pain, for he knew Anatole would never return his feelings. Anatole loved women. He loved girls. Dolokhov was just a man. He was just a man who was hopelessly in love with his best friend. What a shame."





	I can’t fight it, so what am I to do but encourage it?

Dolokhov couldn’t help the way he felt, really. He loved Anatole. He loved Anatole more than anything else in the world, himself included. It wasn’t his fault. Dolokhov didn’t ask to be cursed with such feelings. He couldn’t stop, though. The feeling was out of his control. It just happened, without his consent or willingness to feel it. Trust him, he wanted nothing more than to stop loving the other. This love of his brought him nothing but pain, for he knew Anatole would never return his feelings. Anatole loved women. He loved girls. Dolokhov was just a man. He was just a man who was hopelessly in love with his best friend. What a shame.

He could put up with it, though. It hurt to love somebody he could never have, but Dolokhov knew there were worse feelings in the world. He knew that this wasn’t nearly as awful as being stabbed or shot or poisoned. He also knew that he could handle it. It wasn’t that hard to suppress it all and carry on. Plus, Dolokhov was strong, he could take it all. He could take things that hurt.

Still, he couldn’t deny the crippling pain that crashed over him every time he saw Anatole with a woman; he couldn’t deny the insane amount of jealousy or envy, either. He knew it was getting harder and harder to take it and roll with the punches. He wasn’t in denial, as he knew full well how much his love was hurting him, but he was denying his own inability to put up with it all. He had a tendency to overestimate himself. Even in battle, Dolokhov always acted and thought that he was bigger and stronger than he was. So, it was only natural, that he’d do the same in love.

It was a Friday, and the group was exchanging gifts for the upcoming holiday. Dolokhov had received a pile of new books from Pierre. They were “enlightening and inspiring” according to other. Dolokhov wasn’t too interested in the potential enlightenment or inspiration the texts could give him but, nonetheless, he was touched by the gesture. He knew Pierre and him didn’t have the best history; he appreciated the gift, as it would have been easy for Pierre to give him something less thoughtful. Dolokhov gave Pierre a brief but honest thanks, before giving Anatole his gift.

The gift was nothing too expensive or fancy, as Dolokhov didn’t have an excess of funds like the rest of the group, but he still put a lot of thought into it. It was a mirror, pomade, and a mug with some tea. Anatole was vain, that was a fact everyone knew, so Dolokhov was sure that the other would appreciate another piece of glass to admire himself in. He was also sure that Anatole would like the pomade since the other used so much of it so often. He was constantly running out of it. As for the mug and tea, Dolokhov wasn’t sure. It was just another part of the gift to make it seem less small. Everyone liked tea, right? Surely Anatole would like that part of the gift, too. All of the items were wrapped in green-- Anatole’s favorite color. 

Dolokhov put so much thought into the gift. He was a bit worried about what the other would think, but he pushed that all aside and handed the package to Anatole. “Here you are, _mon cher_ , I hope you like it,” he said, smiling. He really did hope the other liked it. 

Anatole grinned, muttering a quick thanks before starting to open it up. His face was so bright as he unwrapped it. Anatole always looked bright and happy, but at times like this, it was practically blinding. Dolokhov was sure that he was brighter than any sun or star could ever be. There was a sparkle in Anatole’s eyes that seemed almost childish. He was clearly excited to be getting a gift. And, once it was opening, Anatole’s seeming glee increased tenfold. He held up the mirror and beamed. “Perfect!” He laughed, “This is exactly what I needed, Fedya, I have nothing but large and ornate mirrors-- I could use a way to appreciate my looks on the go.”

Everyone in the group, who was currently circled around a table, began to crack up with laughter. Anatole’s vanity was nothing short of amusing to them. Dolokhov, however, only chuckled a bit. His current relief outweighed any amount of comedy he could have found in the other man’s words. “I’m glad you like it, Anatole,” he said, walking over to the other, “Do you like the other things too?”

“Yes, very much,” Anatole said with a nod, “I could always use more pomade and I could always use a drink of tea. It’s one of the few things I drink that isn’t booze.”

Everyone laughed again. Hélène stood up from her chair and crossed to where Dolokov and Anatole were standing. “Why do you encourage him like this, Fedya?” She asked with a snicker, gesturing to the mirror, “He’s self-absorbed enough. All that gift will do is worsen it.”

Dolokhov let out a light laugh, “I can’t fight it, so what am I to do but encourage it? We both know there’s no changing Anatole,” he said, “Plus, I knew he’d appreciate it.”

“And appreciate it I will, thank you so very much Fedya,” Anatole hummed. Hélène wrapped an arm around Dolokhov, but Dolokhov ignored the gesture and watched passively as the rest of the gift exchange unfolded. He didn’t care too much about the rest of it. Yes, watching his friends have fun and enjoy themselves was nice, but Dolokhov gave his gift to Anatole and that was all he cared about.

Hélène gave Pierre a small Napoleon statue and a bottle of vodka. Their relationship was just as rocky as Pierre and Dolokhov’s, if not more so, but they could put that aside for moments of fun like this. Plus, Pierre appeared to be absolutely delighted by the gift. Hélène received a new string of pearls from Anatole, along with the funds to buy new dresses. She could buy the dresses anytime, and she was sure the funds were stolen from her, but Hélène still took the gift with a smile. 

The gift exchange quickly wrapped up and everyone started going their separate ways; Pierre was off to his study and Hélène was off to wherever the hell she spent her time. Anatole and Dolokhov, however, stayed behind in the drawing room for a bit. 

Dolokhov was only staying in there because Anatole was, but he had no clue why the other was staying there. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “That went well,” he said, “I didn’t think it would go so smoothly, considering the troubled history some of us share.”

Anatole nodded. “Yes, but I’m glad it went so well. It’s nice to have fun like that.” He leaned a bit closer to Dolokhov and, without any warning, reached his hands out began to fix the other’s cravat. Dolokhov felt his face flush. 

“... What are you doing?” He asked, somehow managing to keep his voice even and his tone unaffected. Anatole was so close to him right now. And, though Anatole had gotten this close before, there was usually some sort of warning and Dolokhov could usually prepare himself. But he had no time to prepare himself for this, and he could feel his composure slipping. He felt almost pathetic. Anatole and him weren’t even being intimate right now. Anatole was just adjusting his cravat. And, yet, Dolokhov felt hot all over and flustered as hell. He grit his teeth. Damn it.

“I’m fixing your cravat, Fedya, do you still not know how to tie these things?” Anatole chided, eventually pulling away. “You’d think that since you have to wear them so often, you’d know how to tie them by now, but I suppose not.”

Dolokhov huffed and looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved that Anatole had moved back, or if he was disappointed. He was already missing the other. And, the sad part was, the other hadn’t even left. Anatole was only a few feet away. Compared to the few inches from earlier, though, the physical distance felt like miles to Dolokhov. “I don’t like wearing them. I only wear them when I need to dress up a bit,” he said, trying to regain his composure, as he’d lost a bit of it earlier.

“Did you dress up for me, then?” Anatole teased. And it was a joke. It was nothing but a joke. Dolokhov knew this, and yet it made his heart swell and his face tint red again. Any composure he had managed to grab onto slipped away once more. He shook his head.

“I dressed up for the gift exchange, not you,” Dolokhov muttered, looking down at the books Pierre got him. He opened one and pretended to be interested in the words inside it. He didn’t want to seem affected by the teasing. Anatole always joked around and teased his friends, it meant absolutely nothing. Dolokhov didn’t want the other to know that it meant something to him.

“No need to be so serious, Fedya,” Anatole snickered, glancing down at the book as well, “How about you read those some other time? We could go to the club instead.”

Dolokhov did not want to go to the club. He knew it’d be a painful experience for him, it always was. Yes, he loved drinking and having a blast with Anatole, but he hated seeing the other flirt with women and run off with them. Most trips to the club ended with Anatole leaving Dolokhov to go bed some lady, and Dolokhov drowning his feelings in rum and vodka. Sometimes he’d dance and make merry without Anatole. Sometimes he’d go home with somebody too. But, that hurt as much as drinking alone in a corner, since whoever he had fun with and whoever he went to bed with on those nights was not the man he wanted to do it with. Going to the club with Anatole was always miserable.

“I’d love to go to the club instead,” Dolokhov said, grinning and looking at Anatole, “That sounds far more fun than reading these dusty old books.” He was lying. He would rather die than subject himself to another night of pain and heartache. But, to Dolokhov, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Anatole wanted him to come to the club, and Dolokhov was terrible at saying no to the other.

Anatole smiled, “Then let’s go, Fedya. There’s no time like the present!” he started to walk off, his gifts in hand. He didn’t wait for Dolokhov, as he expected the other to follow. Dolokhov did. He quickly gathered and lifted the books from Pierre, and walked after Anatole.

The trip to the club didn’t take that long, and Anatole eagerly led Dolokhov inside. Anatole was always so excited to go. He always managed to have fun and treat every night like a new one, despite the fact that he and Dolokhov went to the club so often. Dolokhov, on the other hand, did not always manage to have fun and he was rarely excited to go. He treated every night the same. It was a routine, almost. He and Anatole strolled up to the bar. Anatole ordered a glass of some drink; Dolokhov went ahead and bought a whole bottle of rum. He knew that he was in for a long night.

What he didn’t know, however, was that this night would not be like all the others. After an hour or so of drinking and chatting it up, along with some less than stellar dancing, Anatole landed his eyes on a girl. That was normal. Dolokhov knew to expect that. And, less than ten minutes later, Anatole wandered off to go and talk to her. That was normal, too. Sure, Dolokhov didn’t expect Anatole to leave him so soon, but he was resigned to the fact that it would happen at some point.

Dolokhov found himself a comfortable chair to sit in and began to drink his rum straight from the bottle, watching Anatole and the young girl from a distance. It was sickening. Anatole was talking and grinning, showing her his charming smile and his more flirtatious side. He was so hot, so attractive, so perfect. This girl, surely, would fall for him. Just like every other one does.

Dolokhov wished that he were a woman for a moment. He didn’t actually want to be one, but maybe if he were Anatole would see something in him. Maybe then he’d get to see Anatole’s charming smile up close and get some of those flirtatious comments thrown at him. Maybe then he’d be able to bed with Anatole. But, alas, he was not a woman and he would never be one. Anatole would never love him the way he wanted.

Taking another sip of his rum, Dolokhov took a moment to pray to god, wishing for his drink to laced with arsenic or something of that like. As melodramatic as it sounded, he wanted to die. He couldn’t stand seeing Anatole having fun with another woman. He wasn’t about to stop the other, though. He knew he couldn’t and he didn’t even want to. All he wanted was for Anatole to be happy. Women made Anatole happy. Who was he to stop his friend from loving who he wanted to love? But, what Dolokhov wanted more than Anatole’s happiness, was for Anatole to get his happiness from him. That’d never happen. So, he wished his drink was poisoned. 

Halfway through the bottle, Dolokhov stopped paying attention to what Anatole was doing. He was surprised the other hadn’t left yet. But, still, he couldn’t bring himself to care why the other hadn’t left. Maybe Anatole was just taking his time for once. Dolokhov chose to just stare off into space. He wanted to go home.

Anatole walked back over to Dolokhov eventually. Though, Dolokhov didn’t notice. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, and far too invested in staring blankly at his unfinished bottle of rum. Anatole tapped him on the shoulder. Dolokhov nearly jumped out of his skin.

“What on earth do you want?” Dolokhov asked as he turned around, trying to glare at Anatole, “Why haven’t you left yet?” He wanted to sound angry. Maybe that’d get Anatole to leave so he could go back to being said. But, instead of sounding angry, Dolokhov just sounded tired. His glare quickly melted away.

Anatole blinked. “Jesus, Fedya, how much have you had to drink?” he asked, taking Dolokhov’s bottle away from him. Dolokhov tried to take it back, but sighed and gave up. “I didn’t leave yet because Natasha, that girl I was talking to, had to go and did not want me to go with her. She said she wasn’t even supposed to be here.”

Dolokhov couldn’t care less about Anatole’s reasoning for staying. Still, he was going to talk about it. He knew Anatole wanted to talk. “... Natasha? What was she like?” his voice was slurred, but Anatole still understood him, “How could she just leave you...?”

Anatole grinned, his cheeks flushing. Dolokhov wished they were flushing because of him. “Oh, she’s beautiful Fedya. So charming. I’ve seen her once before, at the Naryshkins’ ball, and she’s simply wonderful. So nice and sweet, so young and easy to fluster.” He spoke so fondly of her, his words laced with sweetness and want. It seemed like he was head over heels for her. Dolokhov felt sick.

Every word Anatole said about Natasha felt like a bullet, piercing his heart. He was dying. Anatole didn’t normally speak so fondly of people. He didn’t normally talk about the women he flirted with like this. And, though Anatole was still talking, Dolokhov began to tune him out. He didn’t want to hear any of this. Though, eventually, he heard a few words that made his heart sink.

“Have you ever heard of an elopement?” Anatole asked, looking at Dolokhov. Dolokhov froze up. An elopement? Anatole had just met Natasha, how could he be speaking of elopement? Was he that smitten by her? Those few words made Dolokhov feel as if he were being stabbed. Like Anatole had just forced a knife through his chest and heart, and was leaving him to bleed out on a barstool. This was awful. This was terrible. Dolokhov felt dizzy and light, and he felt like he’d begin to cry. Still, he swallowed those feelings down. He realized, after a few beats of silence, that he had just been staring at Anatole in silence as he had this internal breakdown. He cleared his throat and tried to answer.

“Yes, what of them?” Dolokhov asked, despite not wanting this conversation to continue. His voice sounded sad and choked up. He was having trouble breathing, let alone speaking. Dolokhov hoped that Anatole thought it was the alcohol. He’d hate for the other to know he was in pain.

“I’d like to elope with her,” Anatole said, before grabbing Dolokhov’s hands and looking him in the eyes, “Can you help me, Fedya? Please? Natasha is wonderful, I must have her.”

Dolokhov knew he couldn’t stop Anatole. There was no changing Anatole. Once he decided something, he was going to do it, and nobody could talk him out of it. So, since he couldn’t fight it, he encouraged it. Dolokhov nodded, his face bright red. “I-I’d love to help you, _mon chéri_ ,” he said, trying not to cry.

He made no move to pull his hands out of Anatole’s. He knew it was a friendly gesture that Anatole was doing for the sole purpose of convincing him. But, god, it was a lifeline for Dolokhov right now. Anatole was holding his hands. Anatole, who was the most attractive man in Moscow. Anatole, who he had been pining after since they first met. Anatole, who he loved more than anyone. Anatole, who he’d do anything for. Anatole, who wanted to elope with some woman named Natasha.

“Thank you, Fedya,” Anatole said, pulling his hands away. And, just like that, Dolokhov’s lifeline was gone. He suddenly felt so empty and distant. He’d known for so long that Anatole didn’t love him. And, yet, when the realization hit him again, it hurt more than anything he’d ever felt. He couldn’t handle this.

Tears started to bubble up in Dolokhov’s eyes and, little by little, they increased until he was breaking down crying in front of a confused Anatole, sobbing harder than he’d ever sobbed in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi im gonna be real with y'all this is just me projecting onto Dolokhov a lot, and also im not too into great comet (though I've listened to it!!) I'm just uhh really into War and Peace rn since I've been reading it, and Dolokhov is uhhhh gay. Anyway there is no happy ending (in fact it just kind of ends) and Anatole doesn't love Dolokhov so :pensive: sorry guys.. Also!! I'm not sure what is going on? I'm basically translating events that happened to me onto these characters (gift exchange, heart break, etc) and because of that I have no clue what time this is set in or why certain things are the way they are (Why is natasha at a bar? Is there even a war? I have no fucking clue.) either way!! kudos and comments are appreciated dsfdsjkfdjks ily guys


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